Lintukoto
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: A one-shot set between the Wyvern Warlock and the Epic Expedition, focused mainly on Tino.


_A one-shot set between the Wyvern Warlock and the Epic Expedition, focused mainly on Tino (though Arthur turns up at the end)  
_

_**Some brief notes on Finnish mythology:** Ahti, Antero Vipunen, Ilmarinen, Jumala, Kuu, Pekko, Pellervo, Nyyrikki, Tapio and_ _Ukko are all examples of deities in the Finnish pagan tradition. Tuonela is the realm of the dead, and brown bears are considered holy. In addition, birds are the ones believed to bring and take away people's souls._

_**Lintukoto** – archaic Finnish for "the home of the birds" – refers to an imaginary location which could be viewed as paradise, a warm place it was believed that the birds migrated to and stayed in during the winter months._

**- o0o -**

Caution was something Tino had no shortage of, however it had never really been his forte. Now stealth on the other hand, that was a skill that he knew and practiced far more often than caution. A decent amount of caution and a huge amount of stealth had served him well enough thus far. This time around however, he found himself wishing he had added a bit more common sense into it all before going through with it.

Had he done so, he would no doubt have seen that his grand escape plan – the one he had really just thrown together at the very last minute – was full of the kind of glaring holes that could very well prove to be his undoing. Such as, for example, running into a pitch-black forest in an honest attempt to shake off his pursuers, just to name one example, and considering the fact that his quite eager pursuers had not dared to venture very far into it, he really ought to have reconsidered his decision to continue running blindly through it. He had put all too much faith into his own ability to navigate in near complete blackness, and had managed fine for the most part. Then, startled by a sudden sound from behind, he had not seen where he was going and…

"_Ahti, Antero Vipunen, Ilmarinen, Jumala, Kuu, Pekko, Pellervo, Nyyrikki, Tapio_ and _Ukko_!" the blond youth cursed all in one breath, his voice thick with pain. "Why do you do this to me?"

Violet eyes blinked away the tears that had started assembling in them as his hands were busy elsewhere; fruitlessly pulling at the savage steel jaws that had snapped shut and trapped his right ankle between them. "Bear traps…" he hissed, for the umpteenth time already. "Whoever created something so barbarous should surely try to get stuck on one by themselves to see what it feels like… and they used to call us barbarians…"

He screwed his eyes shut, his breathing becoming even more laboured as he pulled with all his might at the jaws, trying to broaden the gap enough to be able to pull his ankle free. He was unsuccessful in his attempts and only ended up exhausting himself further, slumping in his already half-lying position. _Come on Tino_, he berated himself, as he had done numerous times already. _Get a grip._

At this rate, any head start he might have had would be disappearing within the next couple of hours, and after all that trouble he had gone through to get away from Ivan's claws, there was no way he would ever allow himself be captured again. Three years of silence had been enough; he couldn't bear another, much less an eternity.

Had he not been in such pain, he would have used his magic to get free a long time ago. It was just too bad that an unexpected and continuous onslaught of agonising pain was enough to shatter whatever focus he needed to obtain in order to get loose.

So far, his diligent efforts – otherwise known as struggling – had not accomplished much else than to further aggravate the still-bleeding wound on his leg. It was a painful injury, but far from a life-threatening one. Had he been a bit more considerate of it during his initial struggling, it wouldn't bleed so much on him now, filling his nostrils with the coppery smell of his own blood with each breath he took. It would only be a question of time before a predator – a wolf maybe, or even a bear – caught the scent of it and in his position, he would probably make an easy prey.

Tino rolled onto his back, staring up at the thick leafage as it left a dark impression onto the night sky, which had started to lighten some, indicating that morning was no longer far away. Strangely enough, he found the situation oddly amusing in a strange, morbid kind of way. "If the Great One wills it, I will die tonight," he said out loud, speaking to no one in particular. "If he sends one of his spirits to free me from my duties, I will…"

It would be for the best; he would go to Tounela and meet his old friends and take his gift with him to a place where Ivan could never make use of either. Tino closed his eyes, letting out a breath he had not realised he had been holding, sighing in relief. _It is for the best… it really is…_

Something wet and slightly abrasive brushed against his cheek and he opened his eyes. The blurry outline of a bear stood over him. Tino found himself smiling, tiredly reaching out to touch it, to run his fingers through that fur just once before he went, before he left for the other world. "Thank you," he said, letting his hand fall back down again. Closing his eyes again he just lay there and breathed, completely calm, serene. It was finally over; he did not have to run anymore, not from Ivan, not from anyone.

He forced his eyes back open and sat himself up, holding his head. When his dizziness faded somewhat, he noticed that he was alone again. The Great One's emissary had left him, or perhaps it had not even been with him in a purely physical sense in the first place, which left him with a clear message. It just was not his time to go yet; he still had things to do and duties to perform.

Before he knew it, dawn was upon him and the first rays of sun had reached the uppermost treetops.

**- o0o -**

Berwald Oxenstierna was a very practical man, standing tall, blond, stern-eyed and downright intimidating if rumours were to be believed. Rumour also claimed that before said blue-eyed giant of a man had begun working as a blacksmith, he had been everything from an assassin and a spy to a bodyguard to a Germanian prince and a legendary warrior of some mythical army.

In truth however, Berwald had been none of those things; in truth he had once upon a time been a travelling merchant turned part-time plunderer in the Vikings, a band he had formed with his two surrogate brothers.

A travelling merchant, a skilled carpenter and blacksmith and also a terrifying opponent, at least until the day his eyesight came to deteriorate and he was forced to sell his best hatchet in order to afford a pair of glasses. Soon after this, he had put his Viking career on the shelf and gone off to pursue other interests, settling down in a region that was fairly distant from any place where his name was recognised and feared, a place where he would be able to make a living through his own hard work instead of resorting to underhanded methods and whatnot. In truth however, his main reason for leaving had been the fact that he could no longer stand being bossed around by his Danish self-proclaimed older brother.

Berwald was and had always been a very practical man. He had been somewhat reluctant in abandoning his old ways and beliefs when the messengers of the New God arrived on his doorstep, but his liege at the time had been far more enthusiastic about it and Berwald had at the time decided to trust the man's judgement. He did however keep his old amulet, the hammer of the thunder god Thor, as he had been unable to throw it away, much less destroy it.

The new ways of the world appealed very little to him and he generally preferred his solitude in the smithy, creating new wonders of metal with his hammer.

Then again, he saw very little of his splendid solitude around these days. Not since he had taken on an apprentice at least.

The blond blue-eyed youth – Alfred – was enthusiastic and wanted nothing more than to run off and become a knight; he did not belong in the smithy and in general he spent as little time as possible in it, something that Berwald really did not have much against since it gave him peace and quiet to focus on finishing orders. After all, there was no way he would allow his apprentice's shoddy works to fall into the hands of customers; he generally cared very little about what other people thought, but when it came to the quality of his works he was notoriously strict.

The Swede rose at dawn, making his way into the smithy for another day of work. A brief glance was all he needed to throw at the place to be able to tell that there was something that was missing; something lacking. And this time around, thankfully, it was not one of his swords.

He scratched the back of his head for a moment. _I need more fuel_, he finally decided, stepping in to grab the axe before he was off again.

He had not ventured very far into the woods before he heard something, a sound that was not very much unlike the kind that usually came from an injured animal. Vaguely, he recalled the bear traps that those villagers had paid him to construct. He stepped forward, heading towards the noise, thinking that he might as well end the poor creature's suffering before he went on to get more wood. With little difficulty, he soon located the source of the sound and parted some branches to see what it was. His eyes widened slightly at the sight that met him.

**- o0o -**

After a restless couple of hours of relative inactivity, Tino had renewed his struggles with fervour, cursing under his breath as he did so. Only hours away lay the point in time when his pursuers – Eduard and the others – would reach him, and that was enough of a reason for anyone to try to continue struggling, however futile a thing it might have seemed.

Eduard von Bock – the man who just happened to be one of his oldest friends – had also – however unwittingly on his part – been the very person who had betrayed him, selling him out to Ivan and by that indirectly causing the death of his cousins and their tribe, simply because they had been with him; simply because he had been with them. Tino could not bring himself to hate him, but…

The events of his initial capture flashed before his mind's eye. "Never again," he whispered, screwing his eyes shut. "Never again."

The sound of a twig being snapped brought him back to the present and his eyes snapped open, wide in terror. Heavy footfalls were heard, along with rustling. The footfalls belonged to a heavy man; Tino could tell from the vibrations in the ground, much like a snake would. His mentors had taught him to be one with nature and the spirits that resided in there; Ivan had a similar conviction to become with everything and everyone, but in his case it was more of a question of absorption than symbiosis.

Tino held his breath, his heart racing and his mind reeling. Ivan was tall and looming, smiling almost constantly but downright terrifying because of it; it as though he enjoyed hurting others to reach his goals. What if it really was Ivan? What if Ivan had come for him again? What if it really was him?

His heart rate sped up, even though he lay perfectly still as the footsteps came closer to where he was. Tino bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood.

If it was Ivan, then he would kill him. Tino would kill him even if it killed him in order to get it done.

The pain in his injured leg faded into the distance and was replaced with determination. He shifted, rolling onto his side and raising both hands to his mouth. He would speak the words. He would speak the words and if he failed then he would bite his tongue and be done with it.

Then, hands entered his line of vision and the moment that followed, eyes. Dark blue eyes, dark blue and downright terrifying eyes – enhanced rather than obscured by a pair of glasses – that caused his words to freeze in his throat before he even got to utter them in the first place. Fear – indescribable fear – paralysed him and his eyes remained trapped by that terrifying gaze.

The blue-eyed giant reached for him, and it was only then that he noticed the axe in the other's hand, sending him into a full-blown panic. He was still frozen up – eyes wide and terrified – but he had enough presence of mind to recognise the axe, as well as the style it was made in.

Only then did he scream.

**- o0o -**

"Ki' st'll."

Hands, rough and strong, grabbed onto the steel trap, bending its jaws apart ridiculously easily. Tino tried not to think about what those hands would be able to do to his neck when he pulled his leg out. Then, he dashed, or attempted to at least. He did not get far.

"Ki' st'll," the giant repeated, catching him by the leg and he cried out once more in distress.

**- o0o -**

Nearby, the members of the hunting party startled at the sound of screams piercing the air. Two in rapid succession, the latter shriller than the former.

"Tino," Eduard breathed.

"D-d-do you think Lord Ivan got him?" his younger companion Raivis Galante asked, stuttering and shivering at the same time.

"Lord Ivan is still recovering from whatever Tino inflicted on him," Eduard responded, his face serious as he put his horse into a gallop while the other members of the party seemed to have some trouble keeping up. "Now hurry!"

**- o0o -**

Once they got there however, all that remained was a partially melted steel construction that was vaguely reminiscent of a bear trap, along with a pool of partially dried blood.

Eduard dismounted and crouched next to it, feeling sick to his stomach. Then he straightened up, turning to the others. "Are there any tracks leading away from here?"

"T-There are some," Raivis nervously responded. "Big ones. They continue off in that direction," he continued, pointing.

"They are heading towards the village," Eduard shot back, jumping back into the saddle with surprising agility. "We can still catch up to them!"

**- o0o -**

Fuelled by sheer adrenaline and desperation, Tino had made one final attempt. It had – like so many others – ultimately proved futile, and – exhausted by a combination of his more recent struggles as well as his earlier ones, along with blood loss – he had blacked out, coming to only briefly as the imposing man hoisted him onto his back before he blacked out again, and completely that time around.

Regaining his senses an unknown number of minutes later, it was to a cool watery sensation on his brow. He naturally startled, sitting himself up. His eyes widened momentarily, and when his sight cleared, he found himself taking in for him completely unfamiliar surroundings. He barely registered the wet piece of cloth that now lay on his lap, having fallen from his forehead. Then, everything came back, the realisation of his situation slamming into him with full force, and the world suddenly tilted violently. He drew in a couple of sharp breaths, dizziness and nausea increasing, and when the panic set in, he felt ready to retch even though he hardly had anything in his stomach to rid himself of.

Then, he felt a stab of pain in his leg and actually wondered whether or not he could bear looking at it. However, since it hurt a whole lot less than it had done previously, he risked a look. Surprisingly, it brought his rapidly building panic and nausea to a pause as he could not help but admire the seeming expertise with which his wound had been treated. For some reason, this calmed him, but the aforementioned calm was admittedly short-lived as the giant of a man from earlier suddenly entered, narrowed dark blue eyes locking eyes with his. Panic setting right back in, he acted instinctively, attempting to make his escape only to find that his legs folded beneath him, and that the direct contact with the dirt floor sent a searing impulse of pain up his leg.

Apparently, he was not going anywhere; hurting or not, he could not even get up from the looks of it. As for the latter problem, the man seemed to realise this – eyes narrowing behind the lenses – and stepped forward, and before Tino had even had any say in the matter, the man had scooped him up as though he had weighed nothing at all, placing him back onto the bed in a seated position before crouching down, seemingly making sure that the wrappings were still intact. "D's it h'rt?"

He shot the man an incredulous look in response before sparing a brief glance at his surroundings, taking in the numerous knifes, axes and swords scattered around the place. He tried to suppress a shudder, but it still rocked his frame, causing the stern-eyed giant examining his leg to give him a sharp look, which kept him still even though it made him want to squirm. "D's it h'rt?" the blond giant repeated.

Not trusting his voice, Tino found himself shrugging instead. It seemed as though his life and livelihood was not in any immediate danger, but Tino still found himself swallowing soundly, wondering about his fate as he found his eyes resting upon the seeming multitude of weapons once again, nausea returning.

A sudden touch on his cheek caused him to startle, and his attention snapped right back to the stern-eyed giant. "D'n b' sc'r'd," the giant said. "Won' hu't ya."

Again those words. They were probably intended to offer comfort, to soothe him even; to get his trust. Still, he could not find it in himself to trust; he had been betrayed one time too many for that. _'We won't hurt you'_, people said. _'Until when?'_ Tino always wants to ask, but he never does; not even this time, even though it was a time where such a piece of information could very well make the difference between life and death. He did waver however, but before he had been able to come to a decision, there was the sound of someone knocking on wood, along with a voice – one which rang frighteningly familiar in his ears, causing him to stiffen and filling him with dread. Tino sent a panicked look in direction of the sounds before once again eyeing the room he was in for possible escape routes, even though he was by no means in any condition to even pursue such a thing. Seemingly realising what was on his mind, the giant stood up, towering over him.

"St'y h'r'," the man said, pulling a big cloak hanging from a hook nearby and draping it over him before heading off in direction of the voice, leaving Tino behind to shudder and to pull the cloak closer to himself, almost completely hidden within the folds of fabric as he listened intently, tensing up as the voices grew closer.

He heard Eduard out there, greeting the stern-eyed giant who grunted in response. He then heard how the man – how his former friend and ally – told the man some tale about him being a thief they had been tasked with apprehending, promising rewards and whatnot for those who in any way assisted in the effort. Tino went incredibly cold then, but forced himself to remain still and quiet, knowing he had to hear the other's response to know whether…

"Hav'nt seen 'im," he heard man respond before seemingly picking up some sort of tools, following which the sound of metal slamming repeatedly against metal was heard, and then there was the sizzling kind of sound that water made when introduced to red-hot iron. The man was a blacksmith, Tino realised, regarding his surroundings with new eyes before catching himself and quietly berating himself for even thinking that. After all, he had seen the man's eyes, along with the style of his weapons; blacksmith or not, the man was a warrior and thus with all due likelihood a killer, and a Swede at that, which was not the worst of them all but certainly bad enough, second only to the Russians.

Then, a somewhat awkward cough – no doubt originating from Eduard – brought Tino back to the present. "Also, would it be possible for me to get my horse shod?" he heard Eduard ask, imagining the gesture of adjusting his glasses that no doubt accompanied it. "One of the shoes came loose when we rode through the woods… I'll pay you well in silver for it."

_Ivan's blood money_, Tino thought, but knew better than to voice it. Admittedly, he had yet to forgive the other for selling him out, but also knew better than to judge the other solely on appearances. After all, Ivan was a scary man and hardly someone to be trifled with, so Tino could only imagine just what Ivan had held over the other's head, both to sell Tino out and to become Ivan's knight. As a knight, the Eduard pursuing Tino was only doing his job. Similarly, as a fugitive, Tino was only doing his. They both had their respective duties that they were expected to perform, and even if those duties contradicted the wishes of the other, it was nothing personal; it had never been anything personal. Even so…

Tino found himself eyeing a knife in his immediate vicinity, steeling himself. Gauging the distance, he knew he could reach it, and knew with an equal amount of certainty that he would be able to grab the knife and launch himself at the other if they entered his line of vision if he just pushed himself, though he – quite understandably – felt rather ill at the thought of slitting the other's throat. However, as he convinced himself, it was nothing personal, and it was either that or himself.

"You live alone, good sir?" he heard Eduard ask, barely managing to make himself heard over the hammer blows hitting the red-hot iron with faultless accuracy, brining the hammer blows to a pause.

Tino still didn't move, but tightened his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms.

"I 'av a wife," he heard the blacksmith claim, and that brought him to a pause. "She's shy 'roun' pe'ple."

Dimly, Tino wondered whether there actually was such a wife or if he himself was expected to play the part. In any case, Eduard apparently refrained from pursuing the matter, as Tino soon heard him get back into the saddle and take off in direction of the centre of the village.

"They're gon'," the blacksmith soon informed him, reappearing from the smithy.

In spite of the remaining insecurities of the future that awaited him, his shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you," he said and he honestly meant it, even though he was still trembling a bit.

The blacksmith merely dipped his head once in response, acknowledging the response before once again approaching him and sinking down onto one knee, once again examining the wrappings.

Tino knew he owed the other more than words of gratitude; he wished to give the other something, for having lied for his sake to shield him from Ivan, but he had nothing but his amulets and the clothes on his back, neither of which ought to be traded off to another as he had had them for so long that they had practically become part of him. Still…

He lowered his gaze, unwittingly locking eyes with the man who had by then seemingly finished with his renewed examination and was now watching him with a strange kind of intensity. It was highly unnerving to say the very least, but the obvious lack of killing intent kept him where he was. Then, suddenly, the man spoke, articulating clearly. _"Haluatko ruoka?"_

Tino just stared, momentarily dumbfounded. _"Puhutko suomea?"_ he then asked, not quite certain as to whether or not this was the best thing to do.

"_Puhun vain vähän," _the Swede responded. Then, after a moment of thought, he repeated his earlier enquiry. _"Haluatko ruoka?"_

Tino hesitated, contemplating the offer. Admittedly, it did hold a certain amount of risk to accept food from a virtual stranger, even though said stranger had also treated his injuries and hidden him from those pursuing him. After all, he had put his trust into other people before, and that had ultimately landed him a prisoner. Then again…

His stomach growled loudly, effectively putting an end to his wavering even as he felt himself flush in embarrassment.

**- o0o -**

Meanwhile, the Wyvern Warlock – otherwise known as Arthur Kirkland – was out into the forest. He was scouring a particular area he had been unable to properly investigate the day before due to having been forced to hide out in a tree to avoid being seen by three riding knights passing by, seemingly in hot pursuit of some poor sod.

Had the three been just any knights then Arthur – despite his general policy of staying uninvolved in matters that were none of his business or concern – probably wouldn't have gone to such lengths to conceal himself; had they been just any knights, he might even have felt a desire to play some tricks on them, if not just to screw with their heads then to convince them never to set foot in his forest again. However, as these knights had hardly been just any knights but rather knights of Ivan the Terrible himself, instincts of self-preservation had had their say and kept him up a tree even a while after the aforementioned knights had departed from the area, seemingly pursuing whoever was responsible for those two high-pitched screams he had caught in the distance.

Initially, his purpose for entering the forest had been to gather useful herbs and other plants. Now however, he was there mostly for the purpose of investigating what had taken place during the previous day, as the fairy people had been abuzz, chattering so quickly that he had been unable to keep up and discern what had truly made them so unsettled. It did not take very long for him to discover it though, because there was something distinctly "off" with the feeling of the trees around him, and the forest's inhabitants – seen and unseen – appeared to be acting a bit strangely, as though they too had been disturbed recently, presumably some time during the previous day.

It was hard identify exactly what kind of energies tainted the air, but in any case they did their part in making him feel rather uneasy, and it obviously did not help that the fairies and his other more otherworldly on-off companions seemed to be acting strangely as well, seemingly attempting to hide from him as they would not answer his calls and would scatter and disappear into shadows as soon as he addressed them. It was all rather peculiar to him, as the fairies themselves had almost always been his companions and they had also been the ones who had a habit of keeping him informed of what took place in the woods at the time where he was either back on the mountain or off visiting some human settlement nearby.

However peculiar and unsettling this seemed, Arthur still could not help but be slightly curious as to what they could possibly be keeping from him. Thus, he soon abandoned his half-hearted gathering of medical plants – it was a tedious task that he could practically have performed with his eyes closed if he so wished – and focused more on figuring out the exact nature of the events that had taken place, and he trekked further down the path and followed the still very much visible tracks of horseshoes upon the forest floor; it was hardly a difficult task, though the act in itself was almost literally asking for trouble to befall him later on.

The forest was oddly silent around him and it unnerved him quite a bit, but he still went on down the trail, and the further down he got the stronger the sensation of something weird going on or recently having taken place grew.

Reaching a certain spot, he suddenly came to a halt as he sensed that something in the air had changed.

Magic.

But it was different from the one he knew so well, from his own and from the raw and uncultivated one which existed within the forest itself; it was foreign and although the trail seemed to start growing faint it still felt strong; and very strong at that.

A coldness gripped him as his thoughts were almost immediately directed towards Ivan Braginskij – the cold-hearted ruler of the northeast – however, as he cautiously drew closer to the spot where the traces of magic seemed the strongest, he could almost immediately tell that it was not his; even at a young age, Ivan had possessed very powerful magic, yet had always been corrupted in some way and the one Arthur's senses was picking up on certainly was not. It was quite the opposite, actually.

Instead, it was pure, intense and powerful. Thus, it was really no wonder Ivan had his sights set on obtaining it, and the person who possessed it.

Arthur's eyes fell on what seemed to be a partially melted bear trap which lay at the centre of a pool of dried blood, sticking to individual blades of grass and tainting them in darkening crimson.

On the ground there appeared to be signs of a brief struggle – very brief – and Arthur found himself swallowing soundly for no reason. He crouched down and put his hand out towards the dried blood as though it had been his intent to touch it, but he retracted it soon afterwards and then just sat there for a while, staring down at it in silent contemplation.

He had found the source of the strange magic lingering in the woods, and he knew well that pursuing the matter any further would no doubt be foolish and that such an act would likely come to threaten if not his very existence then at least his relatively peaceful state of being. Yet, it did not take more than a few minutes for his curiosity to overpower the lingering fear and the inner voice of reason and to send him even further down the trail, which by then had seemingly turned towards the village.

Then, as he had reached further down the trail and had come to the outskirts of the forest, he finally caught himself in the act and cursed under his breath. It really was not like him to concern himself with the likes of others, and doing the latter was an utterly foolish thing to do; a foolish thing he really should have no part of. Instead, he opted to gather what he was in the greatest need of and to retreat back to his humble abode to work on strengthening his wards even further as he had a very bad feeling about it all.

A few days later, his hunch had been proven correct, to his utter dismay, when a familiar idiot had once again managed to bypass his strengthened wards, rudely interrupting his breakfast on Monday morning.

**- o0o -**


End file.
